


Seeing Red

by Dementordelta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, wizard rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1472488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementordelta/pseuds/Dementordelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to When Harry Kissed Severus, Harry doesn't even try to resist Snape's seduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Red

Severus Snape was seducing Harry Potter with red. Though Harry wasn't sure 'seducing' was exactly the proper word since Harry was perfectly willing to be wooed into whatever Snape had in mind. After they'd shared a thrillingly shameless public kiss during the Yule Ball, Harry had expected an endless six months of knowing looks, soft words during classes, perhaps even accidentally brushing against each other in the halls. He got none of that.

What he got instead was red.

Rich, dark red robes that flowed off Snape's body at the ceremony they'd been invited to on the last day of the holiday after the Yule Ball. Just the memory of the Yule Ball, only a week old, made every one of Harry's external places tingle in remembered appreciation. Some of his internal ones too, truth be told. The red of Snape's robes was not, however, a bright Christmas-y color, but the dark red of old blood. Harry found himself unable to stop staring.

The headmaster had told Harry of the Presentation Ceremony, suggesting formal robes. Harry had been proud of his own dark green ones, so dark they looked almost black. He'd waited eagerly for Snape in the entrance hall, expecting him to be wearing his usual black robes.

Snape had worn red. At first Harry thought his enigmatic Potions professor must have had a younger brother who was also attending the ceremony, for the man who swept up the dungeon stairs into the entrance hall looked younger, the lines on his face softened when not thrown into harsh contrast by the black he habitually wore.

All three of them had walked down to the Apparation point together. Harry, despite his desire to wedge himself between the headmaster and Snape, was relegated to the end beside Dumbledore. Harry could only stare in fascination at the elegantly flowing red robes. His own were nice; Snape's were elegant, trimmed in the tiniest strips of gold at the cuffs, much like the ribbon on the enchanted mistletoe, half of which Harry had carefully preserved after the Ball. The deep V of the neck of the red robes showcased layers of old-fashioned garments that Harry could only guess at. Guess at, and fantasize about removing. There was even a ring on Snape's finger. It had a red stone.

Dumbledore Apparated first, ever cautious even now, instructing Harry to follow, glancing at Snape with absolute trust. Breathless, now that they were alone for the first time since they'd been decidedly *not* alone at the Ball, Harry had looked up; expecting what, he didn't know. Just because Snape had said he wouldn't kiss him, didn't mean--

But apparently it did. Snape looked down the long beak of his nose and said, "We'll have to get you some new robes." Harry opened his mouth to reply but the older man gestured with his chin. "Along with you now." All Harry could think about as he Apparated was the casual use of the word 'we'. As though they already were something. As if they'd already--

Harry received his Order of Merlin standing proudly beside his fellow recipient, then shined it and put it away in his trunk beside his most prized possession--a tiny, carefully preserved sprig of mistletoe. That night he thought of the way the red robes had flowed down Snape's lean body; then, just before he fell asleep, he thought about being kissed by Snape. By Severus. Best get used to it now, he said to himself, not quite whispering the name into the night.

The first potion, once classes resumed, was red. A Christmas-y red, reminiscent of the recently-celebrated holidays. Harry stared into the depths of his potion, remembering, as he did at odd moments, being kissed at Christmas. When he looked up at his teacher, Snape's eyes held his briefly; not long enough to be called untoward, but Harry thought maybe he was remembering too.

Snape was back to his customary black, which seemed to sink his cheeks, accentuate his nose, add ridges of texture to his hair. But Harry had seen him in red. Red was quickly becoming the color of his fantasies, fantasies that had a vibrant dimension when adding in the tingle he got every time he remembered being kissed.

Even so, he didn't put the reds of his own seduction together until he saw, up at the Head Table, Snape very deliberately pick up a cherry from the communal fruit plate. Even though the teacher wasn't looking at him directly, Harry knew somehow that Snape knew he was watching.

For a second, Snape just sucked on the tiny fruit, listening thoughtfully to whatever Professor Flitwick was saying. Absently he pushed the cherry into his mouth as though to bite it, only to pull it back out. In again. Out again. Harry was quickly getting one of those erections he had learned to love and to hate, the ones that always happened around Snape, that always firmed up quickly and believed no promises of later, but always had to be seen to.

Finally Snape sucked the cherry into his mouth, swirling it around before delicately removing the pit. He still didn't look towards the students at all, twirling the stem in long elegant fingers.

On one side of him Hermione waved her hand in front of Harry's face. "Watch it!" she hissed. "You're staring again. People will know."

Harry forced himself to look away. "People should already bloody well know," he replied.

"Some of us bloody well don't *want* to know," Ron said, in a sing-song voice, buttering his toast. For some reason, Ron always buttered a large stack of toast before he ate the first piece.

"He's doing something," Harry said quietly, though now of course Snape was doing nothing at all. "He's up to something. About red."

"What?" Ron asked. "Sending you secret messages?" He put down his butter knife and pantomimed unrolling a scroll. "Meet me in the Astronomy Tower for a quick one?"

Both Harry and Hermione looked at him with varying degrees of exasperation. "He's not like that," Hermione said. "Snape's already said he won't, no matter how desperate Harry is."

Harry felt his nostrils flaring. "Er, I'm not *that* desperate." Now Ron and Hermione swung their faces to look at him with varying degrees of pity.

"Of course you aren't, Harry," Hermione said, patting his arm with an utter lack of conviction.

"I'm not!" he said, already knowing the battle was lost. "We have an understanding, that's all. He's honorable enough for that."

Ron, starting on his mountain of buttered toast, rolled his eyes. "Don't you mean focused? That's what you said before, that he was *focused*."

"He was," Harry and Hermione said, at exactly the same moment.

 

Snape began correcting his papers in red. The first time he saw it, Harry's heart had nearly stopped, because he'd thought he was doing rather well in Potions. The red mark, despite the color, was an O. The comment was 'thoughtful work'.

Harry craved more contact; despite his words to his friends, he was desperate for more of anything involving Snape. He'd thought somehow they'd crossed a bridge with that kiss, but as the term wore on, Harry realized they had only begun to creep their way across the bridge, each of them holding onto a side of precarious rope rails, neither yet having passed the first rung.

He'd never thought of Snape as a controlled man. He'd seen Snape fly off the handle with scant provocation, but now Harry saw him as a man keeping control--by keeping away from Harry.

Barely.

Snape made sure they were never alone, never allowing Harry to linger after Potions. He hadn't been snarled at, the first time he tried it, but Snape had called to Hermione, just outside in the hall to come back inside on some pretext and Harry had got the point.

The next time, they'd been in the library. Not exactly conducive to any sort of privacy, but Harry had been moving among the nearly deserted stacks when he'd come around an aisle and seen his professor leaning casually against the shelf. There was no one else around. Harry just looked, drinking in the shivery excitement of an unguarded moment.

He must have made some noise. The ever suspicious nose had tilted up. Snape eyed Harry, and, for just a moment, his face was unguarded too. Then he shook his head, closed the book he'd been reading and set the book down on the wide shelf beneath the high stacks. With a slight nod, as though they were chance-met strangers, Snape turned and strode out the opposite end of the aisle.

Harry stood unmoving, letting the surge of wanting leech out of his bloodstream. Yeah, he was so *not* desperate. He'd had immediate fantasies of hot snogs between the stacks. Snape's abrupt departure had left him restless and slightly hurt.

He found himself walking down the now-empty aisle as though to follow Snape. A bright spot of color caught his eye. The book Snape had put down had a red binding. Old, worn leather, but unmistakably red.

Curious, Harry picked up the book and ran his finger over the faded gilt of the title. Viscum Album In Folklore. Viscum album was mistletoe--Harry couldn't count himself much of a wizard if he didn't know that. He felt a flush of pleasure that, for once, was not sexual. It shot up his spine, making his external cells do that tingly thing again. Okay, not *completely* sexual.

The next time they met by chance was on the long winding stair to the Owlery tower. Harry was bounding down, enjoying the echoing scuffing of his own loafers against stone steps so old and well-trodden they were slightly concave in the middle. He heard the distant click of another's heels and slowed down.

Harry, still not used to living in a world without Voldemort, put his hand close to his wand sleeve. He continued downward, not trying to disguise his descent, conscious of only a brief hesitation in the rising tread below.

His mind was conjuring up more of those shivery images--imagining meeting Snape on the stairs, both overcome by lust, being enveloped in each other's robes again, and passion, heat, and more amazing kisses.

Then he turned the curve and came face to face with Snape. Not unexpectedly there was an envelope in his hand. Also not unexpectedly Snape deftly flipped the envelope over so Harry couldn't see the address.

What Harry did see, before Snape slid the cream-colored parchment in his breast pocket, was the blob of red sealing wax on the back. Snape spoke first, because Harry seemed incapable. "Good evening."

Even the simple greeting made Harry want to shiver. He wanted to launch himself off the upper stair, into arms that might hesitate at first, but would welcome him, surely. But because Harry knew -- knew! -- Snape had given him all he was capable of at the time, he was able to resist. He had the tingly echo of that kiss; it had to be enough for now.

"Good evening, Professor," he said, suddenly able to control it, able to bear it. Because "all now" *had* meant "more later". And later would last longer than any fleeting pleasure now. Then Harry looked the older man over and suddenly fleeting pleasure looked pretty good.

But despite the temptation to brush against his teacher on the narrow winding stair, Harry flattened himself along the side wall and slid past Snape, down the rest of the stairs, clattering loudly just to hear himself.

Harry woke on the last day of term hardly aware of having slept. His dreams had melded so seamlessly with what had been on his mind that the night had passed in a panoply of heaving bodies, needy cries, shivery joy.

He was immediately aware of the small box on the end of his bed. Harry sat up suddenly, scrambling for his wand. He stared at the box while his breathing got back to normal. The wrapping looked like fabric, not paper--green brocade from the looks of it. What stopped Harry from hexing it was the over-large red ribbon draping around all four sides, knotted into a loopy bow, ends dangling over where Harry's feet had been moments ago.

Setting his wand aside, Harry picked up the small box, tugging the bow expectantly. Hermione, had she been imprudent enough to be in the boy's dorms, would have admonished him to look for a card. But Harry already knew who this was from.

Pulling his legs up cross-legged, Harry unwound the bow, letting the red satin pool in his lap as he tugged off the top of the box. Red paper inside. Harry smiled, poking through it until he felt something near the bottom. Whatever it was, it was small, wrapped in more of the thin red tissue paper. Inside was a carefully preserved sprig of mistletoe, the red ribbon still around it, slightly singed still as it had been from the Yule Ball where it had burst into flames above Harry's head.

And beneath that, a note. "Join the two halves together at three o'clock if you still wish to join me. Leave your things--we'll collect them later." Signed, though Harry would know the handwriting anywhere.

Even though he knew this half, like his own, had been preserved with a spell, he set it down carefully, picturing it disintegrating into green dust. He read the note again. Three o'clock. "Still wish to join me--" as if he'd had any other wish for the last six months! Longer really, though it had only been in the last six months that he'd realized the dream might be made real.

After the fourth re-reading Harry looked at his still mostly unpacked trunk. "Leave your things, we'll--" There would be a 'we'. It had only taken twenty-one words to create it, not counting the signature. Harry was re-reading it again when movements outside his curtained bed became obvious enough to distract him.

"Are you awake yet, Harry?" Ron called. By now, all the boys knew not to suddenly open the closed bed curtains. He heard Seamus make a rude remark, which Harry couldn't quite hear but could guess at, given the direction of Seamus' usual remarks, and Dean's snort of laughter.

Popping his head out, Harry said, "Yeah, give me a sec," as he carefully tucked away the mistletoe, but not the box, before opening the curtains. Ron was the only one close enough to see the box. His guileless eyes widened, but, at Harry's signal he kept quiet until they were clumped together with Hermione over breakfast.

Harry, who always glanced automatically at the Head Table, was briefly disappointed to not see Snape. Then he realized he'd be seeing the man later that day. On this day when he was no longer a student.

He explained briefly, without going into details, to his friends that he would not be joining them later at the party at the Burrow.

"Trap, most likely," Ron said, between bites of sausage.

"Oh, *that's* perfectly sensible," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "If I were a professor in love with Harry--"

Ron sputtered out a bit of sausage, and Harry covered up his embarrassment by scooping it up in his napkin.

Hermione ignored them both with a disdainful sniff. "I'd certainly risk my life over and over to save Harry so that I could lure him into a trap *now*." She plucked the disgusting napkin out of Harry's hand and substituted her own. "Don't pay any attention to him."

"I wasn't," Harry said, but he was thinking of the words 'in love with Harry'. "You don't think he's--"

"I do," she said, confidently. "Who wouldn't be with you looking at him like that all this time?"

"Like what?" Ron asked, slicing more sausage.

But Harry wasn't listening. Snape had swept in from the teacher's entrance, leaned over and said something to McGonagall that made her give him a severe look, then sat down, giving, as he always did, just the barest look at Harry.

"Like that," Hermione said smugly, waving her hand uselessly in front of Harry's face.

And then there were trunks to pack and goodbyes to be said. Harry stood in the empty dormitory room, his trunk the only one still pushed up under the window. He'd thought he'd be sad at this moment, and he was a bit. But he knew he'd see his friends again soon. And Severus was waiting.

From the top of his trunk Harry took out his own carefully preserved sprig of mistletoe, then unwrapped the other half. He could still faintly smell the smoke; he lifted it to his nose, the scarlet ribbon tickling his chin. This close, he could see the split along the pulpy stem where Snape had pinched the two pieces apart.

Precisely at three o'clock he joined the two halves together. With a jerk from behind his navel and a rush of air, Harry went--someplace.

Opening his eyes, he tried immediately to shake off the disorientation. There wasn't much light, but the air was fragrant with pleasant smells. Something cooking, unidentifiable spices, even honeysuckle, or something like it someplace. And sounds like flutes playing.

Without moving he looked around. He was in some kind of tent, though the canvas roof was far overhead and hung with a series of hanging lamps, the flames casting soft shadows down the conical roof. The place was cluttered, and cushions--fat and plush--lined one section. There were small tables, one with a cauldron, one with a platter covered with a silver dome. A few chairs, overstuffed ones that wouldn't look out of place in the headmaster's study.

There were two heavily draped entrances, or what Harry assumed were doors, one on each side of the tent. Without warning one of the heavy flaps was pushed aside, revealing a bright rectangle of outside and Snape silhouetted in the outline.

"Ah," Snape said, looking pleased. "You did save it."

Harry looked at the two tiny sprigs, feeling an absurd gratefulness that he had. And an absurd indignation that Snape had left something so important to chance. "You weren't sure?"

Stepping further into the tent, Snape lifted a wooden peg beside the door and the flap fell back over the lighted portion. "I'd have come to fetch you," he said. Harry got his first look at Snape now that his eyes had adjusted.

Gone were the correct formal black teaching robes the professor favored during the school term. He was in dark red, the same dark red of the robes Harry had seen him for the ceremony at the end of Christmas break. Only this soft-looking suit had none of the bulk of those heavy formal robes. The shirt, open-necked and loose, had a sheen like raw silk. Gone too were the endless rows of buttons that had consumed so many of Harry's fantasies. The collar was still high, and Snape's hair draped over it more casually than Harry had ever seen it. The trousers were in the same soft fabric, and molded to the long legs of his professor--former professor, Harry corrected himself--admirably.

Harry heard a burst of laughter outside, breaking his staring at his subtly transformed professor. "Where are we?" he asked, when Snape looked toward the door.

"A solstice celebration," Snape answered, tucking the peg he'd used on the door flap into the holder.

They stood just a few meters apart, and Harry realized he wasn't the only one staring. As he had on the Owlery stairs, Harry wanted to launch himself at Snape as though a port key was imbedded just under his ribs, waiting to be activated.

"I'd have come for you," Snape said again, his voice lower this time, but Harry heard him perfectly. "You know how I hate to be kept waiting."

A shiver skittered up Harry's back that had nothing to do with the temperature in the tent. "And you've been waiting six months," he said, scarcely recognizing his own voice.

A familiar smile, under decidedly unfamiliar circumstance, moved Snape's mouth. "Rather longer than that."

Harry nodded, still feeling that shivery something inside him that made him want to wrap his arms around himself. "Much longer," he agreed, eyes widening as Snape crossed the few meters between them. Harry's face lifted as though this were but a continuation of that first kiss. Six months dissolved in a blur of red as seen through a fast moving Time Turner. Snape in red robes, Snape marking his papers in red, Snape wrapping his gift in red ribbon, Snape in his arms, pulling him closer, arms around him as though the port key had pulled them both.

Without their formal robes between them, Harry felt considerably more of the other man, and it was considerably lovelier than he'd imagined in the countless daydreams. It was dazzling to feel hardness meeting his own, delicious to feel lips exploring his own. Snape's mouth heated quickly, in a way it had not at the Yule Ball, heated now that it was free to explore Harry's mouth, his jaw, his neck.

Harry's hands tangled in the blood-red silk, pulling, touching, feeling the other body that molded so closely to his own. He felt hands, clumsy with urgency, in his hair. Strong fingers that gripped him, pulling him closer even though there was hardly any space at all between them.

The stroke of tongues was making Harry lightheaded. When Snape lifted his mouth, Harry was holding on for all he held dear. He opened his eyes, and he saw Snape's mouth curve slightly, lips parted as though trying to decide where to kiss him next.

Only he said, "We're expected outside." Harry was so focused on the slight vibration the words made rising from the chest pressed into his, that he missed the import of them.

"Outside?" he asked; as if to reinforce it, he heard a muted sound of many voices raised in appreciation.

"Ah," Snape said, fingers loosening. "They've lit the bonfire, then." He looked down at Harry, his face so familiar and yet so transformed, youthened by the soft color of the robe and by the force of kisses softening his mouth.

"It's a great honor to them," he said, the honey-warm voice barely above a whisper as he nuzzled his damp lips along Harry's jaw. "To have you here for your first solstice celebration."

Harry's arms were still around Snape's neck, skin prickling with arousal as the black hair ruffled along it in its downward descent. "Don't worry," Snape went on, as though they were having a perfectly ordinary conversation instead of fulfilling one of Harry's most precious fantasies. "You won't be--" The mouth curved over the line of Harry's jaw, then lifted slightly. Harry, his eyes slitted with need, saw predatory heat in eyes darker than his own. "Fussed over," Snape finished, before sliding his mouth down and sucking gently on the underside of Harry's jaw.

Harry groaned, dropping his head back as Snape feasted on his exposed neck, licking, kissing, his lips moving down, then back up under his ear. Holding onto the higher shoulder, Harry held on, his knees suddenly boneless.

"I want to dress you," Snape said, belying the desire by inserting a hand between them, and undoing the simple clasp that held Harry's school robes.

"Don't you mean undress me?" Harry asked, feeling as though it had been ages since he'd spoken, like he'd changed somehow in the span of time that Snape had been kissing him.

"I told you; we're expected outside." But even as he was sliding the black robes off Harry's shoulders, he was warming the skin at the base of his neck with kisses.

"Can't we--?" Harry began, only to lose the sense of the question as Snape slid behind him, easing the robes off Harry's shoulders. He felt something in the hair at the back of his neck, and realized it was Snape's nose, just before another warm kiss caressed the top of his spine.

"We will," Snape said, the barest whisper, but said so close to Harry's ear that he had no trouble hearing it. "Have no doubt about that."

"Then why--?" began Harry again, but the roving mouth had moved up to his earlobe, tugging it, dampening it, breath tickling the inside of Harry's ear.

"I want you to taste," Snape said, punctuating it with another of those slow-moving kisses along Harry's jaw, "the richness of wizard culture." Sure hands tugged up his cotton shirt, and Harry had to think for a bit to remember how to get his shirt off. Together they lifted it over his head.

Snape's long fingers curled into Harry's shoulder, lifting the arm up, kissing down the underside of his arm, nipping the tender skin before rubbing his chin in the dark hair underneath his arm.

Harry shivered, though it wasn't the least bit cold in the tent. From outside he could hear music, sometimes nearby, sometimes distant as if musicians were wandering around the grounds. He heard a flute, or something like it, and violins.

Snape's chin nuzzled its way up, until they were kissing again, and Harry realized that no matter how incredible it had been kissing before, doing it with his shirt off was likely to melt his brain. He threw his arms around Snape's neck again, dragging them closer, conscious of every centimeter of the other man pressing into him.

The silk Snape was wearing grazed sensuously on his nipples, making them feel like they did sometimes when, in the privacy of his own bed, he'd convinced himself that playing with them couldn't be considered girly.

With this much hard male pressing into him, Harry didn't feel the least bit girly. He made the delicious connection of just how hard, and where that hardness was concentrated, and felt his own hips burrow closer in response.

Only Snape was pulling away, guiding him a step backwards until the back of his legs bumped the divan. Still kissing him, Snape eased him down onto to it, then broke away. Harry, nearly eye-level with the silk covered crotch, realized Snape was every bit as aroused as he was himself.

Without really thinking about it, Harry ran the back of two fingers over the bulge. He realized what he was doing when he heard a gratifying gasp over his head, and pulled his hand back as if caught out. Then he remembered he could touch Snape now, could act on all those wants. He spread his hand out and turned it to cup the hard length.

Very slowly, Snape sank to his knees and Harry was forced to drop his hand. He watched as Snape sat back on his heels, and lifted one of Harry's feet, slipping off the shoe, just as if Harry hadn't, only a moment ago, been touching his erection. An erection Harry could see quite clearly, especially now that the soft trousers were pulling tighter.

Next the sock came off, and Harry, watching earnestly, thought Snape would start kissing his feet. Something about the expression on the usually harsh features made him think so. The second shoe slipped off Harry's foot, and this time the fingers did linger. Harry, slightly ticklish, made a surprised noise.

Snape looked up. "I knew you'd be sensitive," he said, peeling off Harry's other sock.

Harry watched in fascination as Snape covered nearly the whole top of one foot with his hand, as if to warm it, though it wasn't cold in the tent. There was even a slight breeze so the close quarters wouldn't be so stuffy.

"You know a lot about me," Harry said, aware of not holding up his end of the conversation, and Snape, also seemingly fascinated by his hand on Harry's foot.

"We're the same sort of wizard, you and I," Snape replied.

Harry was about to ask what he meant, and knew there were many more questions he should ask, but the nimble fingers had smoothed up his shins, and were now caressing his thighs.

Again, he was incapable of speech, as Snape unbuttoned his trouser button. He'd wanted so much to talk to the man he'd hoped would become his lover, wanted to excel, or at least match the vocal acuity Snape demonstrated so easily.

Hearing his zipper being pulled down made every urge to speak fly out of Harry's brain. He knew there were other noises in the universe, knew that just a sheet of canvas away was music and revelry, but all he could hear right now was every slow centimeter of his zip going down.

Dimly he remembered making a list, sometime in March, of conversational topics. Things he could, should there be occasion, talk to his professor about, to prove he knew other things besides Quidditch and how to defeat Dark wizards.

"Lift up," Snape instructed, and all Harry could think of was that Surrendering One's Underpants hadn't been on the list. Immediately he began a new list of topics--Things To Reciprocate At The First Possible Moment.

Once Harry was naked, he was too achingly hard, too overwhelmingly aroused to spare a thought for anything as silly as modesty. He spread his legs, feeling a surge of triumph when Snape, still on his knees, breathed in deeply, as though he'd been offered rare spices.

He was aware that Snape's fingers trembled slightly, and it moved him, somehow, that Snape might be as uncertain as he was himself. But the fingers were surer when they smoothed through the wiry hair on Harry's thighs, teasing himself as much as he was teasing Harry.

Harry's cock was jutting between them, a slick of clear fluid trailing down one side. Because he knew what they both wanted, he stroked the top of his former professor's head and pushed it down, toward his hard, straining prick. Still, Snape teased himself and Harry, opening his mouth, then just flicking his tongue through the dew on the tip.

As if the taste released Snape from some spell he bent to Harry, no longer teasing. Harry went rigid as those lips he'd been visualizing wrapping around him actually did. He was suddenly grateful for the sturdy divan, gripping the sides as he arched into the most amazing warmth and moistness he'd ever felt. He'd never, until that moment, considered the advantages of dampness in just those proportions, but what Snape was doing with his tongue sold him absolutely.

He supposed he should be taking mental notes for when it was his turn to do this--and Harry very much wanted to do this--but he couldn't focus on any one thought for long enough to store it. Harder, wetter, deeper--these were the only thoughts he had room for as nearly all of Harry's energized cock disappeared into Snape's mouth.

Then stopped. Harry could feel the back of Snape's throat working, inching just a bit further down until he could see the tip of Snape's nose was buried in Harry's inky pubic thatch.

Panting as though he were doing anything but sitting there, Harry suddenly unclenched one hand and sank it into the hair draped over his thigh like the outspread wings of a raven. Snape tilted his head slightly as though leaning into the caress and Harry saw the shape of his own cock silhouetted against Snape's cheek.

He gasped in pleasure, feeling tongue and throat moving over him, and tried to turn the soft hiss of his gasp into the name he'd practiced. His tongue betrayed him and the word stalled, becoming, instead, "Professor!"

Snape made a noise against his prick and slowly lifted his head away from the feast he'd been enjoying between Harry's legs. "If you can't call me Severus, I'll stop." Then he licked the soft tip as if to point out the advantages of not stopping.

"S-severus," Harry said and winced at his own awkwardness. He'd practiced, damn it!

Snape licked down the underside of Harry's length, sucking slightly at the base, pulling bits of the chamois-soft skin around Harry's balls into his mouth. "Don't pretend to a sophistication I know you do not possess," Snape went on, as though he talked from beneath a scrotum every day. Perhaps he did, Harry thought glumly. But since it was his sac getting the attention now, he was determined not to worry about it.

Snape had worked his way back up to the head. "Do you think it is displeasing to me that you are untouched?"

Harry, who'd turned down his share of offers--subtle and otherwise--was suddenly very glad he'd waited, even in those days before the Yule Ball when he'd had no more to go on than instincts and fantasies.

"What sorts of ingredients make the best potions?" Snape asked, as though they were in class, but Harry responded instinctively.

"Fresh..oh god, fresh ones," he managed, stammering a bit because he was watching Snape's tongue, which, while not speaking, was still moving.

"Pure ones," Snape corrected gently, "Pure, fresh ones." His voice was full of languid heat, the kind of heat that transferred straight to Harry's aching arousal.

Despite the ache, Harry smiled. He'd known there'd be potion jokes in their love-making. "Are we going to make a potion, Severus?" he asked softly.

A quick lick was his response, but it still made Harry shiver with the sureness of it. "The best sort, I assure you," Snape said, covering him again, taking all of Harry in. As much as Harry wanted this to last, he wanted in equal measures to see what Severus would make of the particular potion he was brewing so skillfully.

As the thought occurred to him, Harry groaned again, suddenly needing to ask something. "Severus," he said, repeating the name because he enjoyed the freedom of being able to use it, "Should I--"

Before he could finish the question, Snape hissed a reply, mouth never leaving off its task, "Yes."

Feeling the exquisite tightening of his balls, Harry suddenly, desperately needed to rephrase his question, and tried to think of a way, but couldn't concentrate with Snape sucking like that and then it was too late to give warning as he poured himself down Snape's throat, grabbing hold of anything to keep from toppling off the divan.

When he could open his eyes, he saw that there was no need to have been worried, for Snape seemed quite happy to drink it all down. Greedy even, as his tongue kept checking to see if anything more was forthcoming.

"Let's get you dressed," Snape said, and Harry, leaning drunkenly to one side in the best post-orgasmic stupor he'd ever experienced, shook his head as though he'd heard wrong.

"What? No, I want to--" he began as Snape got to his feet. He could see clearly through the thin trousers that Snape was just as aroused as Harry had been only moments ago, and would be again, if allowed to stare at that beguiling shape.

Snape picked up a red box with a wide lid from a table that had only two elaborately carved legs. Harry wasn't sure why it didn't topple over but he'd seen enough wizard furniture by now not to worry about it.

"I want to--" he tried again, wishing he did have a bit of the sophistication Snape knew he lacked, to voice what he wanted.

Pulling the fitted lid from the box, Snape said, "We've time enough for that," then turned back toward Harry as though to add something. His mouth stopped moving and his eyes fixed on Harry, in his careless sprawl on the divan. Harry, who'd never felt the least bit sexy, save for the briefest moment at the Yule Ball, suddenly did. Black eyes, already clouded with unspent passion, leapt at the sight of Harry naked, sprawled, sated, still on the cusp of arousal.

Harry knew the creeping power of sex in that moment. He knew he could stand up and wrap himself around Severus and they might not leave this tent for days. Then, just like that time on the Owlery stairs, because he knew he could--he didn't. They had time, as Severus had said, all the gloriously erotic adventures ahead unspindling, memories not yet made, only imagined. Harry knew with solid certainty his imagination wasn't up to the reality in those jet black eyes. Reality and promise.

Harry knew, despite his earlier doubt, he had indeed been claimed, all but wrapped up in a red bow since Christmas. "What have you brought me?" he asked, knowing on some level he might have been embarrassed about being naked, but somehow it didn't bother him just now. He, who was normally the shyest of his dorm mates, felt unashamed in this man's company.

Snape appeared to come back to his task, turning and swallowing visibly. "Robes," Snape said, with an audible hitch in his voice. "Dress robes."

Oh yes, Harry thought, he'd been claimed all right. The wizarding world, he'd discovered since his experiences with Dobby, was weird about giving clothes. Even Ron's mother would only give him jumpers she'd made by hand, never bought.

"Good ones that'll see you through," Snape said, though Harry could tell Snape knew Harry had guessed their significance. Unless Harry missed his guess, there were protections woven into every layer. For the first time Harry felt part of his own culture, of wizards and witches beyond Hogwarts, as though that long ago promise of Hagrid's that he'd be a wizard was real at last.

Snape pulled something white out of the box and Harry heard the faint crackle of tissue paper. Then Snape knelt again, and Harry's pulse quickened for all that he'd just spent himself utterly, for the position was nearly exactly the same.

Only this time something almost transparent was in Snape's hand, as warm fingers picked up his foot and started sliding the filmy thing up. Harry frowned, for it almost looked like a ladies stocking, but as Snape slid it up, Harry realized it was heavier and shorter, more like a long sock. By the time Snape had smoothed it all the way up, it was over Harry's knee.

Then he was sliding the second one up, fingers gliding over ankle and calf, and Harry decided he liked the way they felt. Thought to judge by the undiminished interest of his cock, perhaps "like" was too mild for the way he felt with Snape's fingers sliding up his legs.

Snape just smiled and stood back up as Harry kicked up one leg to see what it looked like. The next thing Snape pulled out of the red box was white as well. Again Snape knelt, sliding the openings over Harry's feet.

"Stand up," he directed and Harry complied, his still-flaccid, but willing to be coaxed penis now brushing into Snape's heavy black hair. The older man stood up too, pulling the pants up, for so they must be. These were utterly unlike the simple white y-fronts Aunt Petunia had always begrudged him every year. These came down over the long socks, down to his knees, but clung to his thigh and groin as if fitted. Again, Snape smoothed over the fine linen, assuring himself, it seemed, of the fit. For an instant, while his hand lingered over the slitted front, their eyes locked, and they both smiled.

Then kneeling again, hooking two small buttons on the hem of each pants leg. To Harry, who'd never even worn boxers before, these long pants felt quite decadent. He wondered, all at once, if Snape wore this sort of get-up under his own robes and felt the delicious, almost naughty feeling of freedom at being able to ask.

He pivoted to get a better look at his linen-clad thigh. "Is this what all wizards wear?" he asked, letting his gaze shift over to Snape.

The other man had pulled a shirt out of the seemingly endless box, and to Harry's surprise, the shirt was dark red, nearly the color of dried blood. "You'll have all night to find out for yourself, won't you?" Snape said with a thin smile as he gathered up the folds of the shirt and slid them over Harry's head. They were very close together again and Harry looked up as he threaded his arms through the fitted sleeves. Again, there were more buttons so that the sleeves would fit perfectly, and again Snape adjusted them. There was a long slim pocket on the inside of the left sleeve that he suspected would be exactly eleven inches long.

"If we're both in all these layers," Harry said, holding his arms out straight as Snape made the adjustments. "It might take all night."

Snape's smile was enigmatic as he held out the long surcoat that came next, as though all night was not such a hardship. The surcoat was sleeveless, in a rich dark purple that even Harry, who didn't have much of an eye for color, thought went well with the dark red shirt. Once it was around Harry's shoulders, Snape slipped around front to begin buttoning the rows of small dark buttons that closed the garment from sternum to the top of his calves.

"Surely you know wizard robes aren't just for simple modesty." He eyed the drape of the shoulders critically, pulled some fabric into shape and resumed buttoning. "Protection spells, charms, potions all woven into the fabrics are one of the reasons wizards live so much longer than Muggles." He brushed a hand down Harry's chest in case any of the buttons got ideas about coming undone.

"And one of the reasons our kind is prone to so few of the diseases that keep the Muggle population in check."

It was one of the things that Harry had suspected, but also one of those things wizards assumed everyone knew and never thought worth mentioning.

"If a wizard child survives until adulthood he or she has a very good chance of living a long time. It's one of the reasons Hogwarts is so well protected."

"So, you look after all of us," Harry said, "Not just me?"

"You were nothing less than a constant headache from the moment you walked into the school," Snape replied, pulling a pair of lace up ankle boots shoes from the apparently endlessly roomy box. He dropped them on the floor and let Harry slip them on before doing up the lacings. Harry was not surprised that the shoes fit perfectly.

"Though I suppose you turned out all right," Snape said, again moving behind Harry so that the last part was said very close to his ear.

Harry turned his head and brushed his lips over Snape's mouth, faces nuzzling slightly before Snape guided the outer robe over the surcoat. The robe was heavy but nothing Harry couldn't handle, and it felt extremely comfortable. From behind, Snape held Harry's arms straight out so he could tighten the lacings under each arm hole.

"There are sleeves that attach for colder weather," Snape explained, "but you won't need them today." He stepped away and put the lid back on the box. "I'll send them with you when you go."

There was something about the way he said it that made Harry almost remember something he wanted to ask, but he was distracted by another burst of noise outside. This sounded like someone walking by playing a stringed instrument like a lute. Nearby he heard snatches of a song, but he couldn't quite make out the words.

When he looked back, Snape was examining him with a critical eye, and Harry looked down at the finished effect. He tried to see himself as an older sophisticated man would see him--skinny with few muscles, not as tall as Snape, but not as short as he'd feared he'd be when he'd gloomily seen how tall Ron had grown every year. Untidy hair, but Snape's was hardly better. Glasses, but everyone was used to seeing him in them.

And Snape, for good or ill, had known him for seven years now. He didn't look a bit critical when he stepped closer.

"A kiss for luck?" Harry said hopefully but Snape's mouth was already lowering onto his. Harry immediately wanted to undo all of Snape's handiwork and skinny out of his robes. He was already rock hard again, and he figured, from the feel of Snape pressing against him, that he'd never really lost his erection.

A glorious groan came from above him, though the way their chests were pressed together it might have originated from either of them. Snape's hands slid down his back, cupping his arse, this time over his robes exactly as he had done at the Yule Ball.

This time it was Harry that groaned, his mouth working against Snape's in some kind of unrehearsed symphony of movement. Harry had never really thought about how much sheer movement went into kissing--of lips moving over his, of his tongue moving in and out as it glided over Snape's, or of the huskier movement of two bodies striving toward one another. He thought about other, lustier, types of movement, of things he wanted to do with his lips, his cock.

"Yes, oh yes, please," he murmured, hardly aware of speaking until Snape dragged his head up, breathing raggedly, looking every bit as debauched as Harry felt. The black eyes were fixed on Harry's mouth as Harry pressed his own lips together in a vain attempt to dry them. Or to keep from kissing Harry again. Since Harry wanted to be kissed more, so much more that he was aching from it, he leaned in again, but Snape drew back.

"Not yet," he said, and that maddening smile was back, though not quite as sure as before.

"Now," Harry said, amazed at the growl that rumbled out. "Unless you're teasing me again, like you've been for the last six months and this is all some sort of--" He looked around at the seductive surroundings, the lush pillows, the softly glowing brazier.

"No teasing tonight," Snape said, but he didn't move close, though it was clear he wanted to. He sighed. "We're going to need more than luck and lust if we're going to pursue this thing we both want."

Trying to understand, Harry let himself take a few deep breaths. "Can't we just drink a potion, and swear our undying love?"

Snape's expression was as warm as the brazier. "If it were that simple, we'd have drunk together long ago." He was looking at Harry's mouth as he spoke, as though visualizing the potion on his lips.

Something fell into place for Harry. "You think I'm too young--too unschooled--to make this sort of decision." Snape looked up guiltily. "Well, you're right," Harry went on. "It's stupid to want someone who pushes people away with both hands. And it probably isn't the smartest thing in the world for you to shackle yourself to me."

Though he meant it, Harry was glad as Snape smirked that thin-lipped, superior smile. It was the smile that had always driven Harry mad, though for increasingly disturbing reasons.

"Then we'll ask the old gods for luck tonight," Snape said, sliding into his own wine dark robes, the same ones Harry had seen him wear a few months ago. "Theirs is the old magic in the air tonight, and they might grant two foolish souls such as ourselves this boon." He reached behind his neck and tugged the hair out of his collar. "With the proper sacrifice."

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing he would regret asking. "What sort of sacrifice?"

Snape extended an arm, and Harry took it unhesitatingly. "Tonight we are going to sacrifice a virgin."

~~**~~**~~

As Snape had predicted, Harry wasn't fussed over once they joined the revelers. More often than not he was simply acknowledged with a nod or a smile. There was more than one speculative gleam aimed at the man at his side. Harry had quite easily slipped his hand into Snape's once they'd left the tent.

From the outside their tent looked no bigger than a stall at the Quidditch world cup. It had a pointed roof circled with several rows of canvas around the cone in contrasting colors. A pennant flew from the topmost point, though Harry couldn't quite make out the sigil.

Neither of them did the slightest thing to discourage the speculation directed toward them, as they greeted well-wishers and watched the festivities. Now that they were free to touch each other in public, Harry had no intention of giving up the right. He was a wizard now. A wizard on the cusp of loving another wizard, though that didn't seem all that rare in the society Snape had brought them to.

He quickly saw the source of the exclamation over the bonfire. Even from several acres away it was an impressive thing. They were strolling slowly through the crowd. For here there was music, from what looked like impromptu groups playing instruments that Harry mostly recognized.

As they wended their way leisurely through the merrymakers, Harry thought he recognized a few faces. One, a girl who'd been a few years ahead of him; Ravenclaw he thought, though no one wore school robes or colors or seemed to care what house anybody had been in.

He thought he saw another familiar face, though he found himself staring to remember where he'd seen it. He squeezed Snape's hand to get his attention.

"Isn't that--" he began, only to have Snape follow his gaze and make a rude noise.

"Might have known he'd turn up."

"Do you know him?" He'd place the man finally, as a fairly famous film actor.

"He's something like my fourth cousin. Good thing he's a better actor than he is a wizard or Albus would have hit him up for the Defense position." Harry lost track of the face in the crowd when Snape began nuzzling his neck, just above his collar. Even though they hadn't been completely free of physical contact since they'd left the tent, the loving gesture again gave Harry the feeling of being claimed. He leaned into the gentle caress, heedless of the milling celebrants around them.

"Good batch this year, Severus--oh!"

Harry opened his eyes and looked down. A rotund little wizard, nearly as wide as he was tall, was looking up at them, a knowing look in his green eyes. He had a luxuriant moustache, that was either waxed or charmed to hold its curlicue shape.

Without haste Snape lifted his head from Harry's neck, but left his hands on his shoulders. "So I'm told," he said. Harry noticed how thick his voice sounded.

"You haven't had any yet?" the other wizard asked, eyes widening in surprise.

"I've been waiting for Harry," he replied, with a slight squeeze to his shoulder as he introduced them. The shorter wizard was Realious Franklin, who nodded as though he understood the unstated 'for more things than this'.

"I'd be honored, of course," Franklin said. Snape nodded and the little wizard left them with a slight bow, returning just a few minutes later. Beside him floated an oddly shaped tray holding two small triangular cups. It was only when wizard and tray drew close that Harry realized the cups were flowers-- balanced somehow on the conical tip.

Franklin himself uncorked the bottle with his wand and poured the soft golden liquid into each cup. On one side of each cup the petal had been folded down to leave a place to drink from. Franklin handed them each a cup.

Harry realized both men were waiting for him, so he took a sip. It was cold and delicious and tasted of honey and flowers.

"It's wonderful," he said sincerely and Snape smiled that pleased little smile.

"Thank you," he said, sipping from his own cup.

Harry felt the wine warming his insides. "You made it?"

Snape tipped his cup at Franklin. "With some help from Realious' bees."

Harry wanted to kiss Snape rather badly at the moment, wanted to taste the honey from his mouth, but had to content himself with edging in closer to the lush red robes, under the arm that had never quite let go of his shoulder. He got the feeling Snape wanted the same thing for he dropped the lightest of kisses on the back of Harry's head.

To distract himself and his stirring cock, Harry asked, "What's that they're doing by the bonfire?" His glance took in both wizards but Snape shrugged indifferently.

Franklin however looked pleased that he'd asked. "Ah, a lover's game. One person tries to lure someone they're interested in with a green sash. They're only allowed to use their wands to keep the sash in play." He chuckled slightly. "They can get quite, er, creative with it. Go and see." He excused himself with a smile.

They were offered more wine as they wound through the revelers, and more than one person commented on its quality. Harry followed Snape's lead and declined. He had the feeling they'd both need a clear head for later tonight.

There were lots of other tents set up along the path toward the fire. There were vending tents and tents with more musicians. There were lots of visitors' tents as well of different sizes, none larger than a typical wizard's tent. Harry wondered vaguely how large most of them were inside.

The vending tents looked easily as interesting as those at the Quidditch cup had been, with all manner of enticing smells wafting forth. Other beverages besides wine were also for sale. What he didn't see were booths of souvenirs, but Harry had other things on his mind besides souvenirs, tonight.

They seemed to be in no hurry to get up to the bonfire crowd. Snape had slid his arm back through Harry's as they wandered. More than once when they stopped to watch a group of musicians or small groups of performers acting out plays, the other man's fingers slid over Harry's bicep, around his elbow, as though unable to keep his hands off him. Since Harry knew he was quite unable to keep his hands off Snape he returned the light caresses, and more than once leaned forward expectantly. Each time the dark eyes lit but Snape would shake his head slightly.

There was already quite a crowd gathered around the bonfire when they arrived. The flaming stack was so big Harry couldn't see around the other side. They found an uncrowded spot and stopped, taking in the sight and settling comfortably beside each other. Snape pulled Harry into him, standing behind and wrapping his arms around Harry's waist.

"Sometimes they burn the wands of older wizards who've died," Snape said into his ear. "Those whose wands are unlikely to be flexible or accommodating enough to be passed on to another." He moved Harry's hair aside with his nose. "Not tonight, though." His mouth found a sensitive spot behind Harry's ear.

Harry shivered, though the heat from the bonfire was more than enough to keep him warm.

"Things begun upon a Solstice have great power," Snape said, his mouth running along the shell of Harry's ear. "Many Muggle children conceived on this night, for example, turn out to be witches or wizards." Snape pulled the bottom tip of Harry's ear between his lips and sucked it.

Having Snape this close for this long had kept Harry on the pleasant edge of arousal. Without his familiar white underpants, his cock was enjoying freer movement. He tilted his head to expose his neck more, melting into the solid weight behind him when Snape took advantage of this new angle to nuzzle his mouth along Harry's throat.

Harry slid his own hands over the arms that held him, urging them tighter. The body that pressed against his gave him the thrill of knowing that Snape was heavily aroused, that he, Harry, had done this to the other man. Then something pressed into his hand.

"Throw this into the fire."

Harry looked down. It was the small bundle of mistletoe from the Yule Ball. Snape gave him a 'go on' gesture and Harry took a few steps forward and added a silent plea of his own before tossing the dried plant into the flames. A brief flare of sparks and it disappeared. He stepped back into the circle of Snape's arms.

"It's time," he heard in his ear, and he shivered at it. He'd been thinking exactly the same thing. He looked toward the voice, saw Snape's heavy-lidded gaze, and nodded. Within moments the crowd around the bonfire closed around the empty space formerly occupied by the engrossed wizards.

They Apparated into the tent, Harry turning in Snape's arms, going directly for the kiss he'd wanted ever since they'd left it. Snape gave him that and more, molding the young man to his frame, pressing himself against Harry as if he wanted him to know how needy he was.

"I want you," Snape said breathlessly, his gaze glittering in the low light, brighter though to Harry than the bonfire they'd just left behind. "I want you inside me."

Harry froze in the act of reaching for the clasp of Snape's robe. "I thought--" He forced himself to concentrate as he undid the clasp. Long fingers returned the favor.

"I thought you said," he tried again, "about sacrifice--" Snape's hands on his shoulders, sliding the robes down Harry's arms made him want to shiver again, but he didn't. Once the robe was off, Snape took his own off and threw them both over the divan. Then he grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him toward the door at the back of the tent.

"Rest assured," Snape said, lifting the canvas flap and pulling Harry in after him. "After tonight you will most definitely not be a virgin."

They were in a bedroom, fully as large as the outer room and just as opulently appointed. The room's dominant feature was the bed, taking up one whole corner by the door. Heavy pillows covered the head. A small lamp burned by the bed, but the rest of the room was shadowed. Harry didn't care much. He'd have surrendered to his man under the meanest of circumstances. He couldn't even take in the fact that Snape wanted him inside him, wanted to be fucked.

Harry was starting to appreciate the simplicity of the robes Snape had dressed him in. once the surcoat lay flung across a chair, he turned to assist, but Snape was pushing him toward the bed. Fingers tugged at the buttons and laces of his pants, and they fell away.

Once Harry came up short against the edge of the bed, Snape stepped out of his own pants, and the soft slippers he'd worn. Harry was too aroused not to appreciate the sight of another cock in the room, and just as glad to note he hadn't been misled by that deliberate press of bodies. Whatever nature had stinted this man in beauty, the fickle goddess had made up for here.

Snape all but collided with him, pushing them back onto the bed. Hands tugged at his shirt, and Harry had no trouble wriggling out of it. Snape still wore his, but when he reached for it, Snape scooted back, pulling Harry on top of him.

Somehow Harry managed to get his hands under Snape's loose red shirt, and even though he had to break off the frantic kiss, he tugged it over Snape's head, almost whimpering as their chests touched for the first time. This was what he'd craved, man to man contact, the feel of another chest pressing into his, the heat of another cock burrowing into his own hips. This might not have been a new feeling to his lover, but to Harry there was no more extraordinary feeling.

"Oh Harry," Snape gasped and they took a moment to just meet each other's eyes. Harry clearly saw the wonder and awe that he felt sure would be reflected in his own eyes. Fingers stroked down the side of his face. "Now," he said, spreading his legs beneath Harry, stroking both their cocks together.

"Oh god," Harry whispered, feeling the pulse of another man against his belly, the rapid excitement of his heartbeat thrumming through his sex. Hands slid down his back, over his arse, pulling him, if possible, even closer. Harry knew if he just kept rubbing his heavy cock along Snape's belly and against Snape's cock, he'd spend himself too quickly.

"I want to--" he began, grimacing at the exquisite torture of having to move in any way that was not 'harder'.

"You will," Snape breathed, leaning up, letting his head drop onto Harry's shoulder. "I need you inside me tonight," he whispered.

Harry did shiver at that, and his was not the only cock that twitched at the words. Snape pulled them further onto the bed, angling them so he could reach the small clay pot on the nightstand. The other hand guided Harry up, off but not fully away. Harry's cock, no longer confined by Snape's belly, sprang free. He grunted but steadied himself.

Snape raised one knee to brace Harry as well. He eyed Harry determinedly. "If you come when I put this on you, you'll be spending the night on the divan."

Harry nodded tightly, leaning on the upraised leg on his back, while Snape applied the warm slippery stuff to his cock. He didn't linger at the task, though Harry thought it might be nice in the future to do so.

Then Snape was pulling him on top again, raising his other leg to capture Harry in between.

"Don't you need to--" he began, not certain he remembered how to finish a sentence, but with the sudden shift of their bodies he was feeling less vocal.

"I took something earlier," Snape replied, spreading his knees, guiding Harry toward his cleft. "Now, Harry," he said, and Harry, caught up in the urgency, pushed against the entrance that looked too small, despite Snape's assurances that he didn't need any of the stretching Harry had read about. His balls felt like they'd been aching for days, even though he'd come quite satisfactorily several hours ago.

"Now, Harry, now," Snape urged again, almost desperately bumping himself against the spongy head of Harry's slick erection.

Harry braced one hand flat on the bed, and used the other to help himself push in. He wanted to be careful, he wanted to be inside so much it hurt. With a determined assault, he pushed just inside. The slickness eased the way and with a slight slip he pushed in and slid all the way down his shaft, burying himself balls deep.

He squeaked with the unexpectedness of it, but he heard the most contented sigh from Snape he'd ever heard another human make. He could feel the heaviness of another man's balls in his pubic hair, could feel the slickness of Snape's pre-come on his own belly. He willed himself not to come from the sheer exquisiteness of it. He looked down. Snape, too, looked dazed, as though the urgency that had gripped them both had overwhelmed his senses.

Snape's heavy cock, dark and purple, lay between them, and Harry could feel the pulse of it, still throbbing against his belly. He grimaced and closed his eyes. A hand touched his face and he opened his eyes.

"What is it?" Snape asked, his eyes molten, languid and satisfied now that Harry was inside him.

Harry tried to smile but knew it wasn't one of his best efforts. This felt too good, better than he could have imagined. "If I move, I'll be spending the night on the divan."

Amusement sparkled in the inky depths but Snape didn't laugh. "Remember I told you I took something earlier?"

Focusing on the question forced Harry, his elbows locked, to not think about the incredible heat pulsing around his cock. He wanted desperately to move, to obey what instincts he'd never known he possessed were screaming.

"Yeah," Harry murmured. "You feel incredible." And he did. Heat, molding them, sealing them together. He'd gone in so easily.

"The potion has…useful properties."

Of course there would be a potion. Harry moved his hips back a bit, feeling the combined effects of heat and suction. When he found he could bear the pleasure of it, he slid out a little more.

Snape's eyes widened appreciatively.

"What's it do?" Harry said, feeling the ridge of his prick nudge the outermost muscles sheathing him. He plunged back in and groaned.

The fingers on his face slid down, onto his shoulders. "Go ahead and come if you have to, but stay inside me." He ran a leisurely finger down Harry's damp chest.

"Stay inside," Harry groaned, pulling out slowly, straining with effort. But it was such a blessed effort.

"Stay inside," Snape repeated, hands moving, ever moving over Harry's skin, touching him, caressing him, easing muscles quivering with effort. He was moving, pumping in then out, shaking with the effort of it, but being held firm inside the best place his cock had ever been.

He felt hands on his arse, locking them in an eternal circle of pleasure. Then lower, stroking into his cleft, rubbing his hole. Harry slammed in one more time, moaning, pouring his seed into his lover, into Severus, into the man he loved.

Snape held him through every shudder, cupping his flanks to make sure he didn't pull out. It had only been a few strokes but Harry was panting, his chest brushing the one below him. His head dropped onto Snape's shoulder as though the bones in his neck had disappeared.

"It's bad form, I assume, to declare my undying love right now," Harry said, between breaths, head still bowed.

"Very bad," came the languid voice, but the warmth in it made Harry lift his head. The warmth was in his lover's eyes too.

His lover.

"I want you to come," Harry said, thinking he could at last taste the other man in every way. He unlocked his elbows, bringing them chest to chest.

"I want to, very much," Snape said, brushing the hair from Harry's eyes.

"What should I do?" He was afraid to move, lest his softening--wait.

"Notice anything?" Snape asked smugly.

"I'm--I'm still hard." He stroked back a bit, feeling the glorious tightness still hugging him. Undulating more he could feel, not just his own hardness, but the new sensation of tightness and wetness. "I'm *really* hard," he said. A slow experimental thrust and he decided he liked the way Snape's eyes rolled back in his head, liked the way the knife-edge cheekbones stood out when his mouth pulled tight in a lust-induced rictus.

"And you'll stay that way until you pull out," Snape said.

"This is the best potion ever!" he said, able to concentrate more now that his hormones weren't distracting him. He wanted to concentrate on Severus' pleasure, to see what the man's face looked like when he came.

"See, if you taught this sort of really useful potion in class, I might have paid more attention to the potions than the Potions master." He eased back in, enjoying every grasping, sucking, heated inch of the tight channel.

"Do you want to talk about potions," Snape gasped, fingers gripping Harry's shoulders again. "or do you want to fuck me?"

Harry's prick, as rigid as it had ever been, twitched in response, eliciting a soft chuckle from the man it was currently inside. "I'm going to fuck you," Harry said, gaining confidence with every slow slide of flesh inside flesh. "All night," he vowed.

"I rather thought you might," Severus said, his voice trailing off, though his mouth stayed open as though he was going to say something else, only instead of words, arousing little moans came out.

"Tell me what you need," Harry said, finding if he clenched his thighs just so he could lean over and run his tongue down Severus' chest without any danger of losing his seat.

Snape opened his eyes just enough to see. "I have what I need, " he said, eyes drifting closed. Heated hands slid up the side of Harry's thighs. He was still moving slowly, governed by his recent release, wanting to pleasure Severus fully.

Still gripping his thighs around Severus' waist he managed to stay braced enough to reach between them and wrap one hand around the very hard cock between them.

The dark eyes, glittering in the dim lamp light, opened again. Harry stared into the mesmerizing gaze.

"You've let me come twice," he said, pulling Severus' length on the backward stroke of his hips. "And you've been like this nearly all day." He squeezed as he said 'this' and Severus' eyes opened wider.

"Are we keeping score?" Severus said, amusement in his soft drawl. He wrapped his own hand around Harry's hand, guiding his fingers on his erection. "Are you sure you want to see me like that?" he went on, moving his hand and Harry's over himself.

"My eyes smoky and dazed with arousal?" Slow strokes, timing them so that Harry could stroke himself inside.

"My lips parted slightly, moaning from the pleasure you're giving me?" Snape said, as if casting a spell.

Harry felt like moaning himself. Severus' fingers were moving more quickly now, and Harry took that as a sign to speed up himself, matching his strokes to the gliding of their hands.

"A fine sheen of sweat on my chest as my balls pull closer to my body, aching with want?" Severus went on. Harry could feel them, drawing up, shifting between them.

"A flush of arousal creeping up my chest, because I'm…so…close." Severus' longer fingers slid away now that Harry had got both rhythms synched. "So close," he said again. Harry, who very much wanted to see those things, moved his hand and his cock harder and faster, knowing from the way Severus' had thrashed from side to side that he was probably far beyond words or instruction.

The dark head arched back, neck stretched and exposed. A low hiss sounded that might've been the word 'close' but was probably beyond all intellectual process. Harry almost shouted with joy when Severus erupted all over his hand. Harry held tight, feeling each strand as it was freed. He could feel each pulse as it spurted, conscious of his own heartbeat as well, which, in that moment, seemed perfectly synched as well.

He'd slowed his own thrusting, but the sight had so aroused him he hadn't pulled out, wanting very much to come again.

The chest under his heaved still as Severus' sated eyes opened.

"Yeah," Harry said, "I want to see you like that."

Severus didn't speak, instead pulled Harry's head down for a kiss that they were both hungry for. His mouth was dry but moistened quickly with the soft intrusion of another tongue. Their hips shifted as Severus lifted his legs around Harry's waist.

Harry lifted his head enough to brace himself on his elbows and forearms. Still breathing a bit harshly the other man dug his fingers into Harry's flanks. "Ride me, Harry," he urged in a whisper. "Ride me, hard."

"Yes," Harry said, biting back the 'sir' that wanted to slip out.

"Hard, yes," Severus said, hissing out the last word. "Yessss…."

Harry let himself be guide by strong hands on his bottom and felt his prick slide over the hard nub inside.

"Yes," Severus moaned again.

Harry felt like he was performing magic, using his body instead of his wand. He'd never forgot that first satisfying rush of pleasure when a spell he'd done right had worked, connecting him with the magic everyone had assured him he was heir to. And he'd never forget this, the sheer ecstasy of giving pleasure, taking it in equal measures from a willing vessel, surrendering when asked, loving when unable to do anything else.

Loving, yes, and then he was *there*, buried so deep, wrapped so tightly around the other man that he almost felt a sob rising in his throat from the sheer joy of it. He was breathing very hard by the time his eyes opened but he couldn't see anything anyway, his face buried in the lush depths of black hair.

He lifted his head, expecting an unbearably smug expression on Severus' face and not being disappointed. "Can I pull out now?" he asked, one corner of his mouth tugging up fondly.

"Unless you're under the delusion that I can do that again in the immediate future, I'd say it was safe."

"'Yes, Harry' would have done," he said, not really wanting to move, but even still hard, still sheathed tightly within Severus, there was no way he could come again in the immediate future, himself. 'Immediate' meaning within a few hours, anyway.

"Yes, Harry," Severus said with mock-submissiveness, as Harry began to slide out. It was a sticky, messy process but when Harry asked about a cleaning charm, Severus stilled him.

"Useful under normal circumstance, but for tonight--" He sat up in the bed and leaned over to the round table beside the bed. There was something that looked suspiciously like a cauldron with an arched lid that Severus slid aside. Steam wafted up from the depths.

Harry, who lay in a replete sprawl, watched him take out a dark red cloth, still steaming slightly as well. Severus applied the cloth to the messy parts of Harry's abdomen and legs. The cloth was deliciously warm and scented slightly with something like honey. With a hand Severus parted Harry's knees and gently wiped him clean.

When he was done, he started to wipe his own spattered belly, but Harry shot up with more energy than he thought he was capable of and took the cloth from unresisting fingers.

"Got any more of these?" he asked, since the cloth was cooling. Severus inclined his head toward the small cauldron. Harry repeated the process, this time easing the other man back onto the bed as he sponged away the damp evidence of their love-making.

It was such an intimate thing, that when he leaned over to kiss away a bit of something he'd missed, he didn't really think about it, until he felt languid fingers combing through his hair. He tossed both cloths back into the cauldron and settled easily beside Severus as though they'd always slept this way. Exhausted, he felt his eyes closing, with the fingers still combing through his hair.

Harry awoke hornier than he could ever remember being, his skin tingling as though--  
Memory came flooding back and he smiled languidly in the dark, feeling a bit like a cat. He was still tucked up beside Severus, who lay with his face turned away from Harry, his hair fanned across the pillow.

His eyes still on that sleepy face, Harry reached down between them and found, not his own cock--which needed no assistance--but Severus'. Which didn't need quite as much assistance as he thought. He took his time, letting his fingers warm on it. They'd slept a few hours, he thought, but it was impossible to tell, tucked up here in the recesses of the magical tent. His fingers explored the contours of Severus' cock. Stroking someone else to hardness, he discovered, was a lot like stroking himself.

Severus' long legs were sprawled haphazardly when Harry pushed the bedcovers to the floor. Still stroking, he levered himself so he could watch the unconscious awareness overtake sleep on the angular face above him. Thin lips moved slightly, then twitched, as a groan worked its way slowly from the back of his throat..

He was pretty sure, by the time he stopped watching and wrapped his lips around the firming cock that Severus was awake. Certain of it when fingers speared into his hair.

"Yes, yes, yes," came the soft syllables drifting down to Harry's ears.

"You're awake," Harry said, lifting his head to speak. It was, by then, fairly obvious, but he wasn't used to waking up with someone, and hoped Severus wasn't either.

"Some parts of me more than others," Severus said, and even though the room was dim, Harry could hear the smirk in it. Fingers slid up his bicep, over the curve of his shoulder. "Come here and kiss me and let me see if you taste disagreeable in the mornings."

Harry gulped, but let himself be dragged up, then pulled down. He hoped this wasn't a deal breaker for future morning kisses because he felt like his mouth tasted a bit like the room smelled--musky and rich.

Severus' tongue found his with the ease of familiarity and Harry relaxed, drifting down onto Severus' warm chest. He found his hand moving over Severus' cock with the same slow rhythm.

Severus' other arm repeated the journey up his arm, until his hands could lock together behind Harry's head. Somehow it made Harry feel claimed again and he stopped worrying who Severus had or had not ever woken up with. He thought maybe he tasted all right when he heard a breathy moan in his mouth. A thrill shot through him as the prick in his hand hardened further.

Severus' eyes glinted with amusement and arousal. "You'll do," he said, when Harry released his mouth. He eyed the hand still stroking his erection. "The potion's probably worn off by now, but I suppose we could manage another go."

Harry let his fingers slide off the hard shaft, levering up on the bed so he could slip one leg over Severus' sprawled body. He slid back, letting his arse come full stop at the upright intrusion behind him.

"Do you have any of the other kind of potion we used?" Harry asked, rocking slowly against the firm length behind him. "The kind you'll need to fuck me?"

Even in the low light Harry could see Snape's eyes widening. Hands slid up over his knees, fingers spreading on his thighs. "You don't--" the older man began as Harry tucked his knees close to his side. His own cock lay heavy on Snape's belly, leaving a small circle of glistening damp. "You don't have to do everything in one night."

"I don't want this night to pass without being yours in every way," Harry said, and flame leapt into the dark eyes of his lover.

"Do you have any doubts that you are?" Severus said, hands still sliding up Harry's legs, until they came to the top of his thighs, then up to his waist. "That no matter--" He stopped even though Harry very much wanted him to complete his sentence.

"Please, Severus." He thought he knew, but he could wait. He knew the way this man's mind worked, knew what sort of claim Severus had placed upon him. Harry needed more.

"Please Severus," he said again, bending down to kiss the side of the expressive mouth. The action spread his arse cheeks just enough to slide gently around Snape's length when he bent over, and Harry was not above using friction to get what he wanted.

"Claim me," he said, his voice very low as it melted with his lips, as though the words were caressing Severus' lips along with his own. "Take me. I've wanted you to for so long. No other, only you." He was chanting softly, seducing with his voice and with his words, the way he'd been seduced himself. "Things begun during the Solstice have great power." He clenched his cheeks around the solid weight of prick between them. "Great power," he teased.

It was like unleashing a whirlwind, a demon with strength to bend trees, to part seas. Arms folded around Harry, hands caressed him, pulling him close, then rolling him over so that Severus was on top of him, their bodies pressed together. That press of skin against his was more arousing than Harry had realized, as though his whole body was suddenly as sensitive as his prick.

They were moving together, almost as though Severus was inside him, but he could feel the press of Severus' cock pressing into his belly.

"You want this," Severus said, as though asking consent. Harry, almost delirious with sensation, nodded.

"So much," he said, knowing Severus would understand. The other man only nodded once, as though sealing a bargain. It was not Harry's soul in the offering, though when he'd first started school and thought of this man as a demon he might have imagined it so. It was his heart on offer, and he could think of no better place to keep it safe.

He felt Severus lean over to the clay pot on the nightstand and bring it over onto the bed. Harry took the time to spread his legs, feeling very wanton. His own cock was so hard he thought he could come if Snape touched him, but he wanted to see how long he could last.

Something warm touched his balls and Harry groaned, reconsidering that impulsive vow to last. One hand cupped him, sending his aching testicles rubbing against each other until they were slick with what Harry assumed was the best lubricant a wizard could make. More warm, slick fingers, on his legs, threading through his springy hair, down the suddenly achingly sensitive skin below his balls. That drew a groan out of him and he pressed back hard into the pillows.

"You can come now, " Severus said, his voice low but seductive. "It would only take a moment, I think."

"Not until you're inside me," Harry said, a little breathless, not minding that he sounded as though he was pleading. "All the way inside me."

A slick finger at his entrance, hesitating as though asking for permission. Tracing patterns there as though anointing him for sacrifice. Pushing in, very slowly. Harry sucked in his breath. More coaxing, more intrusions, but Harry welcomed them all, even when the heated slide of it sent sparks flying behind his eyes.

Severus shifted on the bed, raising up, taking Harry's legs with him.

"Hold onto me," he said, fitting them together. Harry felt the slow burn, the aching fullness, but most of all the sweet welcome intrusion of his lover.

He felt Severus stop and opened his eyes. The other man was watching him and Harry smiled and ran one finger down his face. "I'm holding on tight," he said, for he was clinging with his legs, with his arms, with his hot slick tightness. "You'd better get on with it, before I start professing my eternal devotion again."

"We can't have that," Severus said, rocking them much slower than Harry had done, until Harry felt the burn fade away, felt the sparks begin to shoot again. Severus was pushing him into the bed, kissing him, stroking him, moving them both.

Harry heard himself speaking, as though chanting again, but whether he was begging or professing his love he didn't know. It was as though every emotion he'd ever felt for this man demanded expression, release.

Severus had begun a chant of his own, that sounded like "Come for me, Harry, come for me," and Harry obeyed, clinging tighter to Severus, being held through this climax.

"Come for me, Severus," he said, even as he was still pulsing with pleasure, "Come for me." They were rocking, shaking until Severus shuddered, his head digging into Harry's shoulder as though it were the only firm point in the universe. Harry held his head, held the still slightly thrusting hips between his legs. Harry knew he had been right to want this, to want it tonight. He'd been claimed in every fundamental way, but then, Harry had come into possession of a few things himself tonight. Looking down at the inky curtain of hair on his chest, he knew he wasn't alone in that. He'd claimed this man as well.

He stroked Severus' hair until he felt the other man stir. Even without benefit of whatever potion Severus had used their first time the cock inside him was still pulsing, although not as hard as Harry's had been under the influence of the potion. Slowly Severus slid out, still in Harry's embrace, letting Harry cradle him until he could speak.

"You're a quick study," Severus said, the soft languid edge in his voice.

Harry grinned, enjoying the slow tangle of legs, the glide of skin. They were sweaty and sticky but neither reached for the warm cloths. "Had to be." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I don't know if you knew this or not, but until recently I was away at school."

An eyebrow quirked at him.

"One of the teachers there," Harry went on, as one long-fingered hand slid through the cooling pool of semen on his belly, "a right bastard he was."

"Obviously you've managed to overcome the disadvantage," Severus said, playing along.

Harry had never known such utter contentment. He felt sore in places he'd never been sore in before, but thought he could count on getting a potion for whatever ailed him in the morning. He'd thought he'd been more content that very first night at Hogwarts, when he'd looked at the bed he'd sleep in for the next seven years, he'd thought he'd never be more content than when he'd burrowed in, knowing he was home at last. But this was better. Even in a tent, it was better.

"I wouldn't call it a disadvantage," Harry replied. "More of a challenge." Severus' eyes glittered with some emotion Harry couldn't interpret. Harry held the gaze with more confidence than he would have been able to even in the last six months, when he'd known Severus had wanted him.

"Harry," Severus said at last, propping one hand on his elbow. The other hand was still on Harry's abdomen, despite the stickiness. "I'd like to go on--challenging you."

Harry went still, knowing they were down to the crux of the matter he'd sensed before. He was glad it was coming out before the dawn.

"But if this one night is all you want, or need--"

Harry cut him off with a kiss. There was something so easy about kissing Severus. "I thought you might be thinking something like that," he said, keeping their faces very close. "You think I didn't know what you were up to? With your giving me a taste of this and a bit of that and 'now, Harry, now'?" He'd woven his fingers in the hair at the back of Severus' head and tightened his fingers in it to reinforce his words. "I'm not letting you fold up tent without me."

The smile Severus gave him was the kind he'd always given in the classroom when Harry had gotten a question right. "I can see you're going to be a handful."

He dragged Severus' other hand onto his spent cock, thrusting himself through curling fingers. "Much more than a handful." He'd made his point but Severus didn't remove the hand cupping Harry's soft prick. "Now it's your turn." He looked up, making sure Severus knew he wasn't teasing any longer. "Do you want to be saddled with a newly-minted wizard who's just had his first taste of sex, but wants so much more?"

Severus cut off Harry's doubt the same way Harry had cut off his, with a kiss. Just the soft brush of lips, with no thought to rekindle the passion they were both too spent to pursue. "You forgot to mention cocky and a bit wet behind the ears," he said.

Harry grinned at that. "I'm wet in lots of other places right now." He'd been wondering if the tent had bathing facilities and was picturing a more interesting way of cleaning them up than warmed flannels or cleaning spells.

"I noticed," Severus said, but he too was still disinclined to move and to take steps to clean them up. He gave Harry a thoughtful look. "May take longer than the summer to set you to rights."

Harry knew they weren't talking about just getting clean any more. "I--"

"I see you hadn't thought that far ahead." The two men stared at each other. Severus curled his fingers slightly around Harry's cock, pressing it into the lush hair between his thighs. "Good thing one of us has."

Harry had tried to picture it, had tried to think beyond this one night, but admitted he wasn't the best at long range planning. "You're planning something." Then he laughed. "Of course you are; you're always planning something."

Severus explained that he'd taken a sabbatical from teaching and that Dumbledore had agreed that he could do without his Potions master for a year. They were still adjusting in the bed, and Harry ended up with his arms folded across Severus' chest, staring up while he spoke.

"What would you have done if I'd only wanted this one night?" he asked, letting Severus stroke his hair.

"Taken my well-deserved year off and nursed my wounded feelings and bruised heart," came the answer from above him and Harry smiled. He thought about telling him what Hermione had said, that she'd thought Snape was in love with him, but he didn't. Like all of his dealings with Severus, the older man had given him all that he was capable of. A kiss at the Yule Ball, when all Harry'd had to go on was dreams. Hints in red of what was to come in the long six months that followed, hints that had given him hope. This one incredible night among people of his own kind.

Back then he'd thought love was a frantic kiss in a deserted corridor, forbidden if thrilling. He looked at the man holding him, at the man who'd let him make love to him, and had returned those caresses full measure. Love wasn't something as fleeting as a forbidden kiss. Harry may not have known much about it either, but he thought maybe it was about the future. A future Severus had wrapped up for him in a big red bow.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Barbana for the endless costume consultations, to Resonant for the Mistletoe and folklore advice and to Medea Nevermore for the Solstice information. Beta by Isiscolo.


End file.
